unsent
by gemini in tauro
Summary: Oswald (or Glen, rather), despite his grieving, writes a letter, hoping this way to reach a friend who is as saddened as he is. ("Esteemed lord Vessalius...")


unsent

* * *

'_Dear Lacie's Stalker,_

_I write this letter because…'_

Glen frowned and shook his head. No, that sounded just wrong—too stiff, scratch that. He heaved a sigh, already deciding to get rid of the parchment.

He tried to look around Glen's—or rather, _his_—study. Somehow, he'd gotten over his brooding. He knew he needed to get over it, after all. He'd known what would happen, years before the ceremony happened. He didn't have any right to mourn her death.

"_She's dead. I killed her." _He had been angered at Jack that day, he was supposed to take her away with him, he had been there to prevent him from killing her.

But he didn't. Glen—no, Oswald—had waited for the day Jack's true nature finally show, for the hollowness in his eyes, or the uneven feeling he got whenever he talked to him to make sense. For him to be active on his feelings towards Lacie instead of being an expectator (or what had been that nonsense with the sword fighting every single chance he got, then?). But he followed her orders—_don't come until a week has passed_—like a lovesick puppy waiting for his reward.

He sighed. Now that his feelings were clearer (the day after the ceremony had been phisically and mentally torture, the next week hadn't been any better), he noticed he had treated Jack horribly, so lost in his own despair to notice whatever he might do to the other, and casted him away if only to try to spare his own misery.

'_Esteemed lord Vessalius,_

_Hoping you are faring well, I wanted to further discuss the topic of which I bore grievance and, rather abruptly, had bid you farewell with nothing more than a few choice words._

_Now that my hopelessness has diminished by far much…'_

Reaching out to other people hadn't been a particular ability of his, never in his life. It might have something to do with the fact most people had treated his sister and him as though they were Abyss itself, but he had never been able to bond easily with other people. And even if he managed to survive, his trust in other people was rather lacking.

But Jack wasn't like most people. He had his perks, but despite the little time they had together, he had made Lacie happy. Few people could do that, a truly happy Lacie was something that made you happy in response.

She was like the sun—full of never-ending energy, radiant and warm.

He ripped the parchment in pieces, thrashing and running over his desk in the process. Throwing things to the ground and keeping himself from crying. This took several minutes, and once the adrenaline wore off, he felt the rush of shame deep inside of him. He hadn't made the room more of a mess than it already was, but to lose himself to a temper tantrum like a toddler would do wasn't dignified of him.

He should be better than this.

He reviewed the words again in his head, the wording of the letter and how cold and impersonal it sounded. As though he were addressing one of the other dukes instead of his dear friend.

(That's what it felt like to have a friend, right?)

He tried to fix a little the mess he made, Once the desk wasn't upside down anymore and he made sure there was still enough ink inside the inkpot, he took his goose feather and inked it once more, touching the parchment gracefully.

'_My dearest friend,_

_My apologies for the other day. It wasn't a good day for me, and I took it on you._

_I was far too wrapped inside my own sorrow to think about what it might do to you. At least through this letter I can think of words that I wouldn't mind sparing to you._

_I am truly sorry of how much I've driven you away, and I want you to reevaluate our friendship. You don't have to grieve alone, so come to the Baskerville manor whenever you feel like it._

_Now that I think about it, there is someone I want you to meet. You two might get along._

_Regards, Glen.'_

He couldn't bear to write his other name. Writing it down would acknowledge the fact that with those hands of his, with the Chains he had given, he had killed his sister. Being Glen was by far easier, almost like he were another person entirely.

Being Glen, who judged a Child of Misfortune and condemned her accordingly to her sins, was far easier than being Oswald, who had cold-bloodedly murdered his baby sister without a second of hesitation nor any attempt to stop it.

"_What point is there in telling him the truth? Do you mean to say Jack might break me out of here or something if I did?"_

Her words were chilling, unsavoury. As though she mocked the mere idea of it. His answer, on the other hand, had been meek, sad.

Glen exited his study, and peacefully began to walk through the manor halls.

In the way to the tower he found Levi, who was fixing little wrinkles in his clothing in front of his bedroom door (it wasn't the master bedroom anymore). He bowed.

"Good morning, master. Were you going somewhere?"

Levi smiled at him. "None of that master nonsense, I'm not Glen anymore. As a matter of fact, I was going to visit Jack, see how he's faring among other things." A pause. "Would you like me to deliver a message?"

It was almost like he read Glen's mind. Although they weren't merged yet, it was already clear to him what Glen was thinking.

Without uttering any word, he gave his letter to Levi, who examined quickly the envelope before nodding his approval.

"Should've known you'd write a letter," there wasn't a reproach on his answer, but there wasn't any fake happiness like he used to, either.. He just seemed tired to Glen (although, to any other people he might've looked his normal self), but he decided not to comment on it.

Glen shrugged. "The parchment helps me relax these days," Levi hummed in response, as though he didn't believe him.

"I'll deliver it to him, then. See you later." Glen saw his former master bid him farewell and stood transfixed, suddenly unsure if he should wait for a reply in his room or go see Alice.

_Hopefully Jack would be well enough to read his letter and send in a reply_, he thought to himself.

("You look like a ghost, Jack.")

* * *

_[I felt like writing something small for Oswald, somewhere between ch68 y ch69 (although Lacie's phrase comes from ch71, so there's that). With some luck, it's not OOC.]_


End file.
